


self portrait with an ice-pick

by SerpaSas



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Overdosing, Racist Language, Suicide Attempt, the normal Milkovich stuff, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpaSas/pseuds/SerpaSas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>(What the body<br/>wanted was its penance; scar, reminder that I<br/>could love anyone, gnash my teeth on their<br/>shoulder, then forget them in the subway car)</em>
</p><p>He's a Milkovich, after all, and must take whatever softness he can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	self portrait with an ice-pick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nervous_witch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervous_witch/gifts).



The first time he realizes he likes boys, he wants to die.

He almost does, too, because no twelve year old, not even a Milkovich, can handle as much booze and pills and whatever other shit he could get his hands on in their bloodstream at once, wanting desperately to forget what he had realized. Needing to forget _everything_ , just for a couple hours, then just a couple more.

He wakes up in his sister's bed, his mother stroking back his hair and holding his sweaty hand. 

She looks strung out, like its been awhile since she last used, like she's actively denying the craving so she can look after him. He doesn't even consider how fucked up it is that it warms him to think his mother chose taking care of her OD'd kid instead of getting high (even for a day, even for a couple hours).

Mickey is a Milkovich, after all, and must take whatever softness he can get.

.

There is a boy in his class, and he is beautiful.

Mickey wants to touch him, feel his skin against his and wants to feel whatever it is that his brothers feel when they're with girls. But it's different, because there are no girls in this equation, and this is the kind of math he hates. Gay boy plus Southside equals dead boy, and he can't die, because then Mandy would be alone and his mother would be alone and he can't leave them to just his father and brothers.

This is how he ends up arrested for the first time, shipped off to juvie, because kicking in someone's face and shattering three ribs on school grounds in front of a group of witnesses doesn't leave a whole lot of doubt of guilt.

He can't remember what the beautiful boy looked like before, but he'll never forget how he looked covered in blood and bruises, matching the ones on Mickey's own knuckles.

.

In juvie, his cellmate tells him how its different here, that it ain't gay if you're locked up. Says his brothers, who have all done their own stints on the inside, have almost definitely done this. Maybe even his dad.

Mickey tells him to shut the fuck up about his dad, and fuck _him_.

.

He thought that maybe he'd- get it out of his system, or something, getting fucked and fucking boys in juvie, but instead he _misses_ it.

.

His mother dies, and he wishes she looked peaceful in death, but all she looks is dead.

He stares at her for a long time, waiting for the cops or ambulance or whoever the fuck they send when you dial 911 and tell the voice on the other line _my mom is dead on my couch_ , in a voice that doesn't waver, not at all, because only faggots and bitches cry, and he is neither.

She has long since wrecked the veins in the crooks of her elbows, and the new shoot-up site had been the angry red of infection when he last saw it but has faded now, no body heat to provide a fever. Her eyes look just as sunken as he can remember them ever being, her skin as pale and hair as greasy as any other day, but she's so still and has no heartbeat and there's vomit dried on her lips.

He wants to hate her, his junkie mother who never protected any of them from his father's fists, but all he can remember is how she was just as bruised as any of them, and how her cold hands felt on his forehead.

.

He fucks some girl to prove to himself- to his brothers, to his dad, to anyone who's fucking watching- that he's straight, and it doesn't work. He does everything he knows he's supposed to; touches where he should, kisses her lips, and the girl seems to like it- or doesn't hate it enough to stop, at least- but it's wrong. Which is fucking rich, he thinks, because what makes it feel wrong is what's really wrong. He's wrong, inside.

His brothers congratulate him, and his dad isn't angry drunk tonight. His family is as happy as they ever are, there's beer and jack and the air is thick with weed and tobacco smoke, his dad and brothers snorting lines of coke off the dirty table, and Mickey wishes he could be happy, right now, this moment, at _least_. But wrong broken little _faggots_ don't _get_ to be happy. Not here. Not in this world.

After the others pass out (drunk and stoned and so out of it Mickey could probably fire off a couple rounds from one of their handguns and they'd still sleep on), he goes to Mandy's room. Tests the door. It won't open, and he smiles because she listened to him when he told her to block off her bedroom when things start getting loud.

She's awake though; he knows how hard it is too sleep when their family gets like this. “Mandy, it's me. Lemme in.”

There's a scraping, and then the door opens just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

“They all asleep?” She asks. Joey's music is still playing, loud and annoying as hell.

“More like dead to the fuckin' world,” Mickey tells her. He slips into the room, closing the door behind him and moving the dresser Mandy had used as a barricade back against the door- just in case. His sister has slipped back into bed, huddled under the crappy stained blankets she's managed to gather for the night, wearing her thickest sweater. It's winter, and it's cold, and no one bothered to pay the heating bill. Mickey crawls in next to her.

She rolls into his arms, seeking out his body heat, or maybe just her brother's embrace, but either way he's not going to deny her. Not when she's the only good and slightly comforting thing in his life, not when he needs that tonight.

They lie there for a long moment, the music becoming more of a background noise to their steady breathing.

.

Mandy is staring at some kid across the street. He's walking next to and playfully shoving Lip Gallagher, the asshole who does his homework sometimes, when he cares enough to get someone to do it. 

The boy with Lip is smaller, with stupid red hair and hand-me-down clothes that fit poorly but are still ten times nicer than Mickey's or even Mandy's. His body turns when Lip shoves him back, and Mickey can see his face.

He can't be any older than Mandy, thirteen or fourteen at the most, his limbs long and he's obviously not used to them yet. Even from here Mickey can see the freckles scattered across his face, like someone had spit paint at him. His lips are pulled wide in a shockingly happy smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He can't see the boy all that well from the other side of the street, but Mickey can tell he's beautiful.

This is the first time he remembers seeing Ian Gallagher.

Then Ian sees them, and waves at Mandy. She blushes forcefully while waving back.

When the two boys are out of eyesight, Mickey turns to his sister. “The hell was that? You getting it from that carrot top?”

The red in her cheeks that had faded came back with a force. “No! That's Ian Gallagher, he's in my class. He's nice, is all.” She huffs, daring him to make something of it.

He doesn't. “Jesus, how many fucking Gallagher's are there?” He questions, looking over his shoulder to where the boy had disappeared around the corner.

“One or two more than there are Milkovich's,” Mandy snorted.

“We could still take 'em in a fight.”

“You obviously don't remember the time Iggy messed with Lip and Fiona kicked him in the face. They stick together, and all that shit.”

She sounds sad, almost wistful, so Mickey nudges their shoulders together as they walk. “Ay, we stick together, too, you and me. Anyone who messes with you gets my fist in their face. You know that.”

His chest feels warm when his little sister grins at him, almost as big as ginger Gallagher had been grinning.

.

These are always the best days- the ones where their dad is locked up. Even just 24 hour lockup. Those are some great 24 hours.

This time Terry Milkovich is gone for at least a month.

Mickey can't decide if it's a good or bad time for Mandy to come home crying.

Either way, though, he takes it on himself to make the little fucker Ian Gallagher pay for hurting his sister, hurting her in a way that she actually lets him take care of it, hurt her in a way that turned Mandy- the girl who could beat any of her brother's, who wore raccoon eyeliner and tight clothes like some kind of whore armour, who bore the name Milkovich and lived with their father for fifteen years- into someone tiny and breakable. 

He grabs his brothers and walks into the Kash and Grab to find Ian Gallagher.

This isn't where everything starts, but it's pretty damn close.

.

After Mandy calls him off Gallagher, after they start dating, after he starts hanging around their house and Mickey gets to know him, kinda, and even like him a little bit- he starts stealing more and more shit from the Kash and Grab. Sometimes when Gallagher isn't there, but mostly when he is. 

Its about showing him that just because he's banging his sister (even though Mickey's never seen them do anything more than sit close on the couch and smile dopily at each other, even though it's pretty fucking weird for Mandy to be happy with just that, never mind the _teenage boy_ she's dating) he doesn't get special fucking treatment. If Mickey wants to rob the Kash and Grab, he'll rob the Kash and Grab. Gallagher working there doesn't mean its off limits or any shit like that.

If he can't help but think back to all the boys he had to beat up on the playground after they messed with Mandy- pulled her pigtails- when he gets a start of satisfaction from Gallagher's shocked, annoyed (beautiful) face, well, no one else has to know.

.

Maybe stealing the gun was a little bit too much, but what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Hand it back to the towelhead, tell him to try not to pussy out this time, and actually pull the trigger? Fuck that. You don't pull a gun unless you're prepared to shoot, to put a bullet in someone, and anyone who got a gun taken out of their hands deserves to have it stolen.

Anyone who breaks into the Milkovich house, wakes a Milkovich up with a tire iron, and fights said Milkovich to get the gun back- well, they deserve it back. Ian Gallagher has balls.

Giving him the gun isn't related at all to the fact that Gallagher fucked him- not just fucked him, either, because that was the best fuck of Mickey's _life_ \- 

“Kiss me and I'll cut your fuckin' tongue out,”

Just 'cause the bastard was the best fuck he ever had, he wasn't kissing him. He realized he was a fag a long time ago, but he wasn't ever gonna be that much of a fag.

He had to draw lines if he wanted to survive.

.

Mandy is in the shower, getting ready to go out with Ian- who is sitting on the couch next to Mickey, getting his ass kicked on the Xbox. They can't fuck cause Iggy is banging around the kitchen, either making something to eat or doing something illegal, and if they went to Mickey's room Mandy would be able to hear them from the shower. Which would be bad on more than a few levels. Even if he's pretty sure Gallagher isn't _actually_ dating his sister.

“So what's the deal with you and Mandy, anyways?” He wants to pretend he's not asking to make sure he isn't fucking the guy his little sister is, too, because anyone who cheats on Mandy should get his fist in their face, but if he's who Gallagher's cheating with- well, he might have to punch himself in the face. He's not sure.

Gallagher smiles shyly, then chuckles, and he hates how damn good the redheaded bastard looks like this. He hates how much he likes how he looks. “Uh, well, when she found out I was... didn't like girls, she, uh, she offered to be my beard.” He chuckles again, and it's such a happy sound Mickey's lips turn up a little too, because, yeah, that sounds like his sister. “She said it would be nice to have a 'real' boyfriend, anyway, someone she could do stuff with.”

“So you agreed to be Mandy's fake boyfriend? Do all the relationship shit without sex? Why the hell would you do that, man?”

“Mandy is great, Mick, it's not like it's painful or whatever to hang out with her. She's, like, my bestfriend.” His honest smile slips into a dirty smirk when he leans forward to tell him quietly, “and it's not like I'm not fucking anyone.”

Mandy chooses that moment to emerge from the bathroom, ready to go and grinning at her not-boyfriend. Ian grins back, then turns to him and says “Later, Mick,” like it's nothing.

When the door shuts, Iggy emerges from the kitchen. “They gone?”

“Yeah, Gallagher took Mandy out for the night. Date or some shit.” He pauses, looking at his brother. “Were you hiding?”

“Gallagher's hate me, you know that.”

“Fiona hit you _one time_. When you were seven or some shit.”

Iggy just sighs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing Ian's abandoned controller, restarting the game. After Mandy, Iggy is the Milkovich Mickey gives the most shits about. But he can't help but almost fucking miss Firecrotch being the other player.

.

They get caught and he gets shot, because leave it to fucking Gallagher to not only have a fuckbuddy and fake girlfriend, but a secret boyfriend too.

Juvie isn't so bad, though his fucking leg causes a bit more trouble than he'd like. But he has money in his commissary, which is more than he expected; no one he knows gives enough of a damn to do that- except Gallagher.

When he finds out it's actually from Kash, that Ian basically threatened his boss (and, he thinks, probably his _ex_ boyfriend, now) into giving Mickey money, there's a feeling in his chest, something like fondness but warmer. He pushes it down.

.

Mickey doesn't understand how he's ended up working security at the place where he got shot for shoplifting from, but he does. And it doesn't suck.

He has his shifts with Gallagher, mostly, which is nice because they usually end up fucking a couple times before locking up, and even just hanging out around the store or actually doing work with him isn't all that bad.

So the summer passes by like that- working with Gallagher, getting fucked by Gallagher, hanging out with Gallagher.

Then fucking Frank catches them. 

Of course he fucking does.

And everything goes to shit.

.

This time locked up, he stays on his best behaviour. It's not all that great, because he's Mickey fucking Milkovich and even his best behaviour could improve, but it's enough to start freaking out the guards, like they think he's planning something or some shit like that.

Truth is, he just wants out. As soon as possible.

At first, Mickey tells himself it's because he needs to make sure Frank doesn't talk. But he could just ask Mandy to tell Iggy or Joey to finish up what they started, and it would be taken care of. Every time he thinks of doing that, though, he sees Ian fucking Gallagher's fucking face when he told him he was just a warm mouth.

And its _stupid_ , its so fucking stupid, and so fucking gay he wants to bash his knuckles into the rough cement wall, but Mickey wants to make sure Gallagher doesn't actually believe that. Because- they aren't just fuckbuddies, they're friends, too. And since he doesn't seem to be coming to visit this time inside, he'll just have to get out.

.

It's- almost terrifying how easily they fall back into place, like no one went away and no words were said and no death threats were put into action. Like Mickey had just left for a day or two, gone on a run with his brothers, and he had come back and nothing had fucking changed.

Nothing except Gallagher smiles a little bit more, a little bit brighter, and sometimes- most times- they end up doing shit after work, or on their days off, and its not always just fucking.

Mandy is spending all her time with Lip, is all, and Lip is spending all his time with Mandy, and Lip and Mandy were who Gallagher hung out with- it's nothing more than that.

It's nothing.

.

“It would be so much easier if I could just hate her, y'know? Like Lip does,” Ian is saying, handing the joint back to Mickey and its physically painful how sad his voice is. “But I can't hate Monica, she's my mom, you know? And its- different than Frank.”

Against his best judgement, he says, “I get it, man,” and now Ian is looking at him, his eyebrows pulled together and he actually looks like he _cares_ what Mickey means by that. And maybe it's the weed, or the cool grass of the baseball field on his back, or the dark of the night that makes it seem like they're the only ones in the world, but he explains, “I should hate my mom too, but- I never did. She was a fuckin' junkie and I can count the times I saw her sober on one hand, and I don't get why she stayed with my dad other than the drugs and maybe bein' afraid or some shit, and she left us alone with my old man, but I- can't hate her no more than I can hate Mandy. Family is fucked up shit, man.”

Gallagher hesitates a moment before asking, “People talk, about- when she died? They say shit about how you...”

“Were the one who found her? Yeah, dead on our fuckin' couch. OD.” He takes another pull on the joint, hands it back to the redhead. “Less messy than how you found Monica, I'm guessin'.”

But Monica is still alive, because her children weren't hours too late, because when they found her bleeding on the kitchen floor, there was someone with medical training ready to wrap her wrists and Fiona Gallagher to call an ambulance. He knows its not his fault that he wasn't there when his mother started choking on her own vomit, that he had actually gone to school that day, but part of him- the same part that almost killed himself and kept going back to the Kash and Grab and punched a cop instead of just killing fucking Frank- will never forgive himself, either.

Ian doesn't say anything, just reaches over and rests his hand on his arm- and he still doesn't know if its the weed, or the dark, or the green eyes that never look at him with disgust or pity or anything other people have always seen him through- but he lets the weight rest there, Gallagher's fingers cold but his palm warm.

.

On the scale of romantic gestures, Mickey is guessing no one is gonna be making a romcom about his attempts at them. Bloodied knuckles and stolen kisses and bullets lodged in dirty skin don't inspire normal people to heart bursting lo- fondness.

Gallagher isn't a normal person, though. So fists bruised against his sugardaddy's ancient bones make him laugh all fucking joyous, and quick kisses before a B&E make him smile like he won a fucking prize. Bullet wounds make him frantic, but- next to how everyone else has always treated him when he's hurt, it's nice. That someone cares. That- that _he_ cares.

And god fucking help him, but he does, too.


End file.
